Dusting Off
by KnightedRogue
Summary: Deceit can be a hard thing to do for a living. Han and Leia, with ties to the NRI and Solo's Girl.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, friends: here we go again. This is the fourth vignette in the vein of "Solo's Girl", including a married Han and Leia engaged in deep-cover NRI work. This one is dark, as I promised it would be to some of you, so keep that in mind. There is significantly less language than I've written before, but some of the material may be of a more sensual manner than seen in my other pieces. I've been challenged over and over again to actually write something with a kiss in it. So ... you know.

"Dusting Off"

KnightedRogue

* * *

The Devonarian boomed as he laughed, a vibration hard enough to wrench the breath from Han Solo's lungs and shake the girl with the red thing off her perch on the lap of the storyteller. She used her heels to dig into the floor and got up slowly, slowly enough for Han to have no more wandering thoughts about what was under the barely-clad portion of her mostly-exposed torso, and slinked back to Grenk as he tossed back his fourth fire-brandy. 

Han leaned back on his barstool, gripped the whiskey he had been nursing for nearly an hour, and attempted to get his mind back on the prize.

The booming laughter reprised, and Han used the distraction to signal up another not-so-watered down whiskey and paste the half-melancholy, half-euphoric look of drunkenness on his face before he tried to get Grenk back on track with the conversation Han needed most.

"I been to the caves more times than you've been with a girl, mate." Grenk reached out and ran a finger over Han's right temple. "You got some interests there?"

"Old interests that need reviving.'"

"Ah," Grenk nodded understandingly. "You might want this then, eh?" He slid a packet of loosely-bound leaflets together. "They'll get you in and out faster than the damn ship can fly."

He was turning his face to grab the proffered bundle when the front door glided open and a walking silhouette brushed past the first tables. He couldn't see her face, shadowed as it was by the darkness and grit of the lights above them, but he could just maintain a visual of her shape as she slithered the maze of tables, the miniature outline of female becoming clearer as she clicked confidently at appreciating passersby. He could see the flap of excess material near the hem of the gown, cut just up from her knee, hiding what she'd continually called her 'lack of leg length' and what he'd just as soon call his and only his and why did she have to look so _damn _seductive with so much material on?

She continued what he was beginning to think was the longest entrance anyone had ever made, stopping at one table to remove the hand that had found its way around her waist, and then voluntarily settling at a table about twenty feet away from his own, crossing her legs higher up than he knew she was comfortable with, and throwing back a whiskey chaser, holding up the shot glass and tossing her short, cropped hair – he'd personally cut it yesterday, and it'd been sexier than hell – over and over. The way she smiled – her teeth glimmered in the overhead lights behind deep, wine-colored lips, alternatively pouting and parting and he thought maybe he'd shown her a little too well how strikingly breathtaking she could be when she just tried a bit – made his stomach tighten with possession and more than a little bit of lust and he turned his face away, afraid that if he saw anyone else patting and touching and caressing her the small furnace that was overheating in his chest might just burst to pieces.

Gulping the whiskey down, he tried to turn his focus, or at least his eyes, away from her, and resume the conversation with Grenk. Grenk was, however, nearly as good a connoisseur of women as Han himself had been back in the day, and was using all his considerable knowledge to imagine her leg here, his hand there, Han could tell, until Han was ready to join in the fantasy and imagine his hand around Grenk's neck and tightening until Grenk shriveled into a bag of bones and fetid flesh on the ground.

"This place just keeps getting better and better, eh?"

Han's hand spasmed beneath the bar.

"Place like this, you find every kind of them. That there, though – " Grenk pursed his lips together and blew what should have sounded like a low whistle and instead reminded him of the sound of her skirts when she walked by " – that's … mm-mm." He looked back to Han's face. "Am I right?"

Han turned his head back, keeping to his job, keeping up the façade, in time to see her laugh into a wine glass, her teeth obscured under the richness of the wine and her lips, and lower her eyelashes to form what was an expression of passive nonresistance and indifference to the cloud of impure rain falling on her dress and hair.

He balled up a fist as he turned back away from her. "Damn straight."

The charged atmosphere seemed a sentient thing, where everyone attempts to focus on the being in front of them and not on the crackling conduit behind, and everyone fails because all species, no matter what their predisposition, will inevitably try to palm the fire that will burn them.

And then she stood and the atmosphere amped up with an audible crackle as all focus refocused onto her as she slithered up to the bar with a grace that seemed both inappropriate and satisfying. Han barely had time to catch the last of her blinks before she'd lowered her lashes and closed the distance separating him and her. She stepped up to his barstool, leaned her hips against the side and stood resolutely between his legs, right arm folded over his bicep, left arm lazily snaking over his shoulder to push the back of his head forward.

He hadn't caught enough of the blink code to understand what had prompted her to kiss him, but he assumed she had had a good enough reason and why the hell did it matter anyway and it felt too good to wonder why he was suddenly pressed up against her, mouth open, lips hard, bruising, un-Leia, something out of a past life, something missing and not-missed, something jarring and wrong and needed and felt all at once, enough to make him momentarily forget about Grenk, the codes, everything that fit into the responsible part of his brain and focus completely on her tongue, her teeth, the hand pushing harder and harder on the back of his head, the way he felt completely lost in a maelstrom of red and silk and lurid images.

All at once, she pulled away, ripping her lips away from his, pushing his body back in the chair, rocking it back on its hind legs with the momentum of the moment. Her eyes sucked at his. She blinked twice and stepped away, moving back toward the enthusiastic audience she'd gained until she stopped and took her seat, her back toward him.

Han sucked in a breath, released it, plastered a confident lift to the side of his mouth and turned back towards Grenk.

"I hate it when that happens." He grabbed an ice shard, swept it into his mouth. "You were saying, pal?"

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, when the dry heat smothers its weight on beds and the sentients sleeping beneath them, when the dry corners creep closer and closer until even the sweat on the body seems oppressive, Han felt the corner of his rented bed dip under a new weight. His hand slipped beneath the pillow to grip the DL-44, his brain already recognizing the weight, his eyes opening to the familiar sight of his wife lifting up the paper-thin blanket and slipping in. Immediately, his skin prickled as she wrapped legs of silk around one of his, pressed an arm around his stomach, fitted herself around him like a second blanket, this one lighter and more delicate than the first. Her face hit a beam from outside street lamps, but the light was slanted, and so was she, and he felt like his whole world was slanted with it. The dark make-up was gone, the color of her lips removed, until all trace of the woman in the bar was banished, and here was simple, plain, natural Leia, her eyes small and naked, her skin splotched red. 

"Hey."

"Hey," he said, uncomfortable despite the touch of her skin. "You shouldn't be here."

"No one saw me."

"You've broken about sixty-two formal codes." He paused. "Not that I'm a stickler for the rules, but you're taking an awful risk."

He felt her loosen her hold on his abdomen as she drew her lips along his jawbone. She stopped to press the bridge of her nose into his cheek, and he could feel her eyelashes flick across his skin. "I needed to be clean."

He closed his eyes and nodded, understanding weighing on him with the heat of the room. Outside the dead wind howled silently. She breathed deeply.

"They wouldn't buy the switch without assurance that I was her. Her favorite weekend thrill was, they said, to string along the locals and rob them into affection."

He drew the sheet further up to cover her exposed shoulder. "Where are you staying?"

"With them. I have the data." She kissed the skin in front of her. "Did you get the codes?"

"Yes."

"Good." The sheet rustled with her exhalations as she squirmed until they were face to face, noses touching, her eyes wide and jittery as they bounced along the lines of his face. "I wanted to kiss you differently."

Han brought one hand up along her cheek. "Different than the way you kissed everyone else today? Thanks."

"No." She placed both hands on the sides of his face, her eyes caressing his, watching, traveling back and forth. "No, Han." She lowered her face to his, and slowly kissed him, closing her eyes as he did, letting himself fall into the addictive surge of coolness that washed over him, a wave of inexplicable cold to drown out the oppressive heat. He leaned back, pressed his head to the pillow beneath, as he waded through the peacefulness of her, of her desire to be clean, of her sweet breath as it took the heat away from him, replaced his tension with an all-consuming wash of serenity until he was giving as well as receiving, feeling her muscles under his hands give way and soften.

When she stopped, her eyes were darkened, her lashes stuck together, and he smiled at her, hoping to ease her mind, to help her cleanse herself with the resolution of a wife tending an injured husband.

She pressed her cheek into her hand, her elbow propped up next to his stomach, eyes flicking once, twice to the chrono on the nightstand. "I could stay here tonight."

"No, you couldn't."

"I want to."

He sighed, slid a tired hand over a tired face. "I don't doubt it. But there are more important things to do than stay here."

She nodded and slid her left hand down the side of his face and down to his neck. "Yeah."

She laid her head in the crook of his shoulder while he adjusted his hands until one wrapped around her back and the other wound up next to him on the bed, the sheets settling into their forms as they laid in the dark.

"When did it become a job?"

He felt her breath as she spoke, felt the simple question hang in the air with the heavy animosity of the day and world and their work.

"When did what become a job?"

"When did deceit become an income?"

He stared at the mud-topped ceiling that prevented him from looking at the galaxies above them and blew out a breath. "When you let it become deceit and not justice, you've got it as an income."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Look," he rubbed a thumb against her temple. "When we're done here, we'll go in and talk with Drayson."

She moved to her back, slipped out of the bed. "No." Her face was illuminated by backlight from the streetlamps outside, and suddenly she became clearer. "I've got go."

She shrugged on a concealer jacket and checked the chrono again, shrugging her shoulders as she slipped on a woven necklace. She started a quick walk from the room, and then stopped, muscles contracted, he could tell, beneath the jacket, cords bunched beneath the necklace so tight he thought it'd rip open. In a flash of hazy light, she turned back towards the bed.

"I'm sorry."

The look on her face was enough to shatter durasteel. She looked honest and juvenile and hurt. And lost.

He swallowed, nodded. "That makes all the difference."

He saw her lower her lashes, breathe in, hide his wife and bring out the woman she hated, and yet was forced, to be. When she looked at him, her face was hard, angular. Completely impenetrable. She nodded and left, closing the door after her.

Han pushed his head back into the pillow, closed his eyes, and tried to dream of something beside red.

Instead he waded in grey for the night.

* * *

Please, please review! I appreciate the thought! 

KR


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This is an older story and a follow-up piece to _Dusting Off_. Officially it's called nothing, because I did not name it. Unofficially, it's Ivy's Story. She wanted to see Han and Leia's first meeting after the events of _Dusting Off. _Woot yay happiness.

* * *

It's easy to lose track of symbolism when you leave it in the fresher.

She hadn't realized it until she'd found the most striking bit of symbolism she had to her name tucked in the alcove. She'd been wiping the makeup from her face, head bowed beneath the harsh glare of the medical light above the sink, when a glint had caught her eye on the wall. She'd moved quickly away from the sink, her left eye still smeared with the dark accoutrements of her façade, and stepped back to inspect it.

It was a tinny, mild light, too soft to belong to the light above the sink. She crept closer, willingly distracted. The metallic hue of the wall offset the refracted light, and it was vaguely misshaped, with blurred edges and a slue of colors radiating from a central pinprick.

She pressed her fingers against the speck of light, watched it hop onto the back of her hand, then return to the wall when she moved to the side again. She crept along the wall, hand holding her weight, pushing her hair behind her shoulder as she tried desperately not to get annoyed. It was a piece of refracted light, after all. It's not like this was ….

Well, it was a simple problem she could solve without using any of her "well-developed" skills. No deceit, no false identities, no masks or lies to force out of her mouth like the ordinary, innocent words she used to use. Here was simplicity and the kind of straightforward, empirical problem that she so rarely saw.

She sighed and straightened up, catching her reflection in the mirror before her. She glared at the woman she didn't think she was, with a low-cut bodice and a cropped haircut, and wondered exactly who it was that peered back at her. It was hard to remember, sometimes, when her real name was used only when filing reports to the brass. This woman felt more real to her than _she _did, and she took a second to remove the eye makeup from her other eye to continue the transformation back to herself

Tossing the washrag onto the chrome shelf behind her, she moved towards the shower stall, debating whether or not to take the time now. She could get the _Falcon _prepped, start the op report, clean up the clutter strewn around their cabin. She decided that, in truth, she had no desire to do any of that until Han was back, and that there was no way she was leaving any trace of her NRI character anywhere on her. She undressed quickly, hissing when the fabric caught the open sores on her thigh, then stepped underneath the water and propped herself up with a hand to the wall next to her.

She began searching around for her hair products, unsure if she'd moved them or if Han had, and reaching her hand to swipe at the alcove to her left when she felt the ring. Her eyes snapped towards her outstretched hand, grabbing the band and bringing it up to her face. The ring itself was unremarkable; she hadn't wanted an outrageous ring and the idea of such an elaborate grotesque symbolizing her commitment to Han just hadn't seemed appropriate.

Her hand completely consumed the ring and it seemed cheap, so she quickly pushed it onto her finger and closed her eyes. It was a different kind of caress, a different kind of affection, and one that took her totally away from the mask she was trying to wipe away. The woman who looked out from the mirror wouldn't find much intimacy with such a small thing. She would have had a few rings of equal beauty, of equal price, and wouldn't bat an eye at finding one hidden in the recess of a fresher.

The woman in the mirror wouldn't understand what it stood for.

She leaned her hand against the fresher wall, then her forehead against that and pushed the darkness out of her skin, away from her and her marriage and her life, and breathed in the heavy air, feeling herself becoming the woman she actually was. The dirt, the blood and sweat and filth, slipped from her body, fell to the ground, swirled away and she felt new and whole again. Then she quickly shut off the water and left the fresher and the humidity, wrapping herself in her robe as she went.

She heard him as he lowered the ramp, footsteps clanging, slow and with leisure, and she guessed that the pickup had been supremely easy. Interesting, she thought, that he'd gotten done early as well. She tightened her robe, and went to meet him.

When she stepped into the lounge, he turned his head toward her and fingered the dejarik board, skimming the length of her robe with his eyes. He had a small pack thrown over one shoulder and a curious tuft of hair sticking out near his temple.

She crossed her arms in front. "I got done early."

"Me, too." He went to the caf maker, flipped the switch in front. "Started the report yet?"

"No, not yet." She came up behind him, took the small pack. "I thought I'd hear your side of the story this time."

He looked at her. "For the sake of accuracy?"

"Of course." She stashed the pack away, then leaned on the counter next to him. "And because our contradictions are costing us credibility."

"You're too honest on them." He rubbed at his eyes with his right hand and half-turned to face her.

She glanced at his jacket pocket, then back at him, wondering what was 'too honest' about not outright lying.

He answered her look. "They don't really care how it gets done."

"Regardless, Drayson just about had a fit when our separate reports were filed last time." He gave her a look, and she rolled her eyes. "I didn't tell you. Officially, the target was lured outside by both of us alone."

His grin was slow in coming, but she was relieved that it came at all. "Was he, now?"

She mimicked the debrief droid. "Please remind me. Did you kiss him to get him outside, or did he come to lose money on a sabacc game?"

"I'll do anything for slaver ass. You know that." He laughed as he said it, and Leia felt like the last of the grime was being swept from her skin. She smiled at him as he scooted closer to her, tilted her chin up so she could see his face. "We're going to be okay, you know."

She searched his eyes to find the lie she was sure would be there. She was shocked when they only showed honesty. "You really think that, don't you?"

He nodded, raised a hand to her cheek. "Commissions are up in a year. Then we leave." He reached down and grabbed her hand, kissed her wedding ring and her knuckle. "Then you and I start talking seriously about the kind of things married people _should_ talk about."

She smiled, excited by the possibility of a family and the renewal that was inherent in its production. She leaned in, kissed his top lip, and moved away before he dove for her. "I can't wait."

He grinned at her, stepped through the hatch toward the fresher. She couldn't wait, really. She hadn't lied. She glanced down at her ring, opened and closed her fist, seeing the stone twinkle in the light, and figured that she better start working on her survival mentality, then.


End file.
